In every case, whether the victim resisted or surrendered, he was nearly certain to be shamefully ill-used. Now and then the biter was bitten, as when three men fell upon a certain foreign gentleman who carried a sword, and was a master of the art of self-defence; or when another, who knew how to hit out, was attacked by two ruffians, both of whom he knocked down. But as a general rule the victim suffered tortures. When down on the ground, as often as not he was kicked about the face and head, usually with savage violence; his teeth were knocked down his throat, his eyes closed, and he was left insensible, streaming with blood. In most cases, there was every appearance that the outrage was deliberately planned beforehand. There were accomplices--women sometimes; and all were banded together like Hindoos sworn to the practice of "Thuggee." For months these crimes continued to be prevalent. Every morning's news chronicled "more outrages in the streets;" until, as the fogs of November settled down on the devoted heads of the honest inhabitants of London, men's hearts failed them for fear, and life in sequestered streets or retired suburban villas seemed hardly worth an hour's purchase. Every journal teemed with complaints; _Punch_ took up the question with grim humour; at the theatres audiences roared at some amusing actor, then shuddered to think they had still to get home after the play was over. At length the horrors of garroting culminated in the arraignment of a crowd of such offenders in one batch at the central criminal court. There were twenty-seven of them. The cases of all bore a certain family likeness: though differing somewhat in detail, there was in each the same insidious method of attack, followed by the same brutality and wanton violence. Speaking to the most hardened, the judge, Baron Bramwell, said, as he passed sentence, that it was his belief that they were "utterly destitute of morality, shame, religion, or pity, and that if they were let loose they would do what any savage animal would do, namely, prey upon their fellows." Therefore he was resolved to keep them out of mischief as long as he possibly could. All got heavy sentences, ranging from "life" downward, and all were consigned to prison, where they are still well remembered--strong, able-bodied, determined looking scoundrels; top-sawyers in the trade of thieving, ready for any kind of daring work, treating their incarceration with the utmost contempt, as indeed they might, for it was nothing new to them. One or two had graduated in crime during the days of the Penitentiary; but neither Mr. Nihil, then the chaplain-governor, nor any one else had succeeded in reforming them. One of them, Leats, had actually at one time been a prison officer, a warder. Formerly a soldier in the marines, his career had been checkered. He had been present at the siege of St. Jean d'Acre, and was at that time servant to the admiral, through whom he obtained a